Abstinence Is Not Immortality
by This is The Phantom Lady
Summary: Sherlock is going through hell trying to go cold turkey and John is trying his best to help him. One night Sherlock breaks John's patience as John is faced with a rather horrific sight waking up from what he thought was the nightmare. (This is my first actual venture towards Johnlock; and it is set just weeks after TAB)
1. Burning Cold

"I'm so c… cold"

His teeth chattered so hard that it made it difficult for the poor man to even speak.

…

What was left of him at all?

He sounded absolutely miserable. Weak. Broken even.

Sherlock Holmes was a broken man. And it tore at John's heartstrings to see him in such a state.

If only there was a quick way to fix Holmes' misery.

Though… there was one way… and Watson himself; the doctor; could not deny that even he had thought about it a few times.

Just to give him an interlude from this hellish state. And Sherlock only seemed to deteriorate on this road to recovery.

But perhaps that was a selfish thought.

Holmes needed to kick this devil of addiction off his back himself; he had even made John sign a contract to not get him any medication to alleviate his symptoms; unless his life was in immediate and absolute danger.

Holmes had something to prove; to himself most of all.

Sherlock had begged, almost clawing at John's knees to allow him to go full cold turkey: despite John's better knowledge as a healthcare professional.

John had agreed; adding to the terms that Sherlock was not to be left alone at any point of his recovery. Which accounted for their change in sleeping arrangement… or rather, had created a good excuse to make a sporadic thing permanent if only for a while.

John had sat himself firmly on the night shift; Molly Hooper would watch over him some days after work, when she could… and of course Mrs. Hudson would always keep an eye on him too. As per usual; though she still would remind them how she was the landlady and not the housekeeper or babysitter…

But John was in charge of the nights… and he had accounted for his eagerness by stating that he would not be getting much sleep at home either way with the new born screaming bloody murder when she woke up hungry; a situation he had guessed his wife Mary would be more suited to handle.

…

"Lie down" John instructed the shivering figure huddled at the end of the bed.

Sherlock's naked back was turned to him; pale and thin, so pale it was almost luminescent in the poorly lit bedroom.

John could count his ribs as well as he could read the scars; way too many for the average man his age.

This poor man had seen battles; and John had only joined him on a mere fraction of them. That much he knew.

A lot of the chapters of Holmes' life were still missing to him.

Oh Sherlock, what have the world done to you? John heard himself sigh inwardly.

"I can't even sit still" the man who was famously known as the world's greatest detective moaned. The effort he used to voice his annoyance was wasted; it was plain as day.

"You have to sleep sometime" John was propped up on his elbows; halfway under the covers. He was drowsily watching his best friend go through hell.

John needed the sleep too… These weeks had drained him.

"I don't even know what that means anymore" Sherlock's pale long jittery fingers entangled in his own damp dark curls; almost creating a yin-yang effect of white merging into black.

"Just try it, please?" John managed to say before an unwanted yawn took hold of his jaw.

"Gah!" the tall one groaned loudly. John found himself jumping surprised by the sudden outburst. "… fine" the pale face now turned towards him.

He was barely recognisable. A ghost of who he was not long ago.

Like a child Sherlock curled up on his side of the bed; his back turned to John, his breathing was fast and his limbs were helplessly restless.

In an effort to soothe him; and himself; John allowed his roughened fingertips glide over Sherlock's white back.

His fingers moved in circles registering every bump and unevenness; like a blind man reading braille.

Sherlock Holmes was far from perfect; but that was the point… and how he ended up in this situation… he was human. So very human. No matter how he tried to deny it.

Despite his chattering teeth and complaining of feeling cold; his skin was burning hot to the touch.

The pale man sighed loudly. His eyes were now open wide; most of all he wanted to run. Every signal in his body screamed at him to run and hide.

John surely knew where he stood on tenderness!?

At first he tensed at the intimate contact but gradually he accepted it. He could not deny that feeling John's touch relieved the itching and crawling of his skin; it helped drown it out for some strange reason.

Sherlock seemed so unaccustomed to the gentle touch; a thought that troubled the good doctor deeply.

Another deep sigh emanated from the broken one; his muscles finally gave in… slowly but surely. He relaxed.

John's continuous touch became an anchor; keeping him grounded…

John's fingers moved slower; achingly slow.

He was nodding off. As soothing as it was to Sherlock it was to him and far too soon for Sherlock's liking he fell asleep.

Sherlock didn't want to admit it… but he had actually ended up enjoying the feeling of those fingers. They worked.

He tried to close his own eyes; trying to let his breathing pattern mimic sleeping.

Maybe sleep would take away the constant snigger of his needs… mocking him.

Every time he filled his lungs and held his breath the silence only gave way for the voice at the back of his head.

He needed peace. Just for a second!

He needed to numb his ever overactive brain. Too many thoughts all at one; it was quite overwhelming. Oh if he could swap minds with someone simple for just one night.

Ah, there was a thought.

His own head was so full of fast thoughts going nowhere… useless thoughts… all eventually circling one uncomfortable subject… teasing him… calling his name… tempting…

Trying to tell him there was no point in trying to fight…

He ran his fingers over his arm, pressing his thumb hard into one of the track marks; one of the oldest ones. A sinister smile crept upon his plump lips; a smug smile he couldn't wipe off.

He licked his teeth hungrily.

He breathed through his nose and stealthy slipped out of the bed. He looked back at his sleeping companion on the bed; with the same hungry smile plastered on his face.

The fair-haired man looked so peaceful. When he wasn't having nightmares he could look so… angelic. Oh what an unnecessarily poetic description!

Oh to be inside John Watson's head. There was a neat thought.

…

It was the sound of broken glass that woke John. He sat up gasping for air; broken free of yet another dream about the war.  
This time the dream had been kinder than other times… He hadn't gotten to the point where he screamed himself awake. Not yet.

John shook his head. He quickly scanned the room; slowly realizing he was not in Afghanistan anymore.

This was a bedroom.

Ah… yes… Sherlock's bedroom!

Sherlock!

The glass breaking!? John's heart rate raised again, thumping hard against his chest.

Horrific scenarios invaded his mind of what he was going to find.

Had someone broken in? Moriarty's clan?

Another glass shattered and a cupboard was slammed shut with force.

"GAH!" He heard a well known groan of frustration.

Sherlock…

John ran towards the sounds; it came from the kitchen. And a horrible sight did await him.

… Though… not horrific in the sense he might have thought.


	2. War Zone

Every cupboard was flung open and every single item had been turned inside out; papers scattered, glasses thrown and broken, drawers emptied right on the floor, cutlery sprayed like landmines with the shards of glass.

It was another warzone.

In the middle of it all; on the floor; sat Sherlock Holmes only wearing his pants.

His was head inside a cupboard; throwing out the interior not caring where it landed.

On the kitchen table; in amongst Sherlock's latest experiments that seemed to be the only things untouched; sat a young woman… completely naked obviously and high off of her face.

"Are you getting any warmer?" She giggled dumbly towards the man on his knees.

"Where is it!" Holmes' desperate voice was muffled by the wood of the cupboard.

John coughed loudly; making his presence known.

"Where is what?" John's voice did not do well to conceal the anger that burned within him.

How long had he even been asleep for?

Was that really all it took?

Sherlock ignored him; but the woman turned to face John. Her reactions were severely delayed.

She gave him a toothy grin.

"Look who's here… the calf… uh… cavalry!" she laughed at her own joke.

John's fists clenched.

"Is that John?" she called out to Sherlock who was still searching for God knows what. Oh, who even wanted to know…

"Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?!" John bellowed to Sherlock; completely ignoring the young woman.

"Shezza's busy… a busy bee" she sang in singsong, her hands playing an imaginary piano floating in front of her.

"Shezza?" John groaned rubbing his cheek with his hand in frustration. He had heard that name before.

"Buzz, buzz, Shezza's buzzzzzy" she seemed lost in her own hilarious jokes. Though, she was the only one who seemed to get the points.

"Sherlock Holmes. I demand an explanation" John raised his voice considerably. A few seconds later the young woman covered her ears and flinched; as if John had threatened to hit her.

"Do lower your voice!" Sherlock finally emerged from the cupboard that by now was completely empty. "I have never been known to be hard of hard of hearing. My senses are quite remarkably alert" he smugly reminded the army doctor.

"What is going on?" John lowered his voice to a more normal tone; mostly for the sake of the female in the room.

The woman was still holding her hands firmly to her ears. She looked absolutely frightened.

"I misplaced an important sample from an experiment" The curly haired man looked into John's eyes and smiled; almost childishly as he got on his feet.

"And she's a test subject is she?" John gestured towards the female. He was not buying it, not any of it!

"Ida? Oh Ida is…"

"Let me guess, a crack whore?" John snapped cruelly. Much more cruelly than he intended; but he was overwhelmed with rage at this point.

"Sherlock she is obviously high as a kite! You should not even be near something like that in your state! Why? Sherlock. Why?" John's anger slowly turned to regret.

He had been there all along; all Sherlock had to do was wake him up and ask for his help. And he chose this!

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed in horror of John's hard words.

What a preposterous accusation!

"And what do you base that deduction on?" Sherlock got smart; his tried and tested defence.

"What exactly am I going to think coming to find you like this in the middle of the night, while a woman high on drugs is helping you search for God knows what, naked even!?"

"Ida is helping me think!" Sherlock bellowed.

The woman flinched again. Her eyes widened.

"You need to distance yourself from… that" John gestured towards her as discretely as he could. He could not deny he wasn't exactly pleased about her presence for quite a few reasons.

She was revolting to him. She stood for everything he was against in these minutes.

"Ida!" Sherlock demonstratively reminded John that she in fact had a name; and was not a 'that'.

She was far from that.

Now John finally turned to her; trying to keep her gaze though her eyes could not hold the eye contact for long enough.

"I'm afraid you have to leave now" he let her know; with a calm force to his voice.

She looked at him with a dead glare. His words didn't seem to make sense to her; he might as well be speaking a foreign language it seemed. She looked up at Sherlock.

"Ida is my guest" Sherlock stepped in between them; glass cracked under his bare feet as he moved.

"Sherlock, can we talk in private?" John suddenly felt strangely awkward talking in front of her.

Though, she was not all there…

Holmes groaned, rolled his eyes demonstratively but decided to comply.

"Careful!" John stopped Sherlock in his tracks. He didn't seem to mind that he was walking on broken glass.

…

John had pulled him aside in the living room; out of the stranger's earshot. Sherlock's eyes kept darting towards the kitchen; a fact that made John chew the inside of his cheek.

"What was it you were looking for?" John asked as calmly as he could muster. John already knew the answer; but he had to hear it from Sherlock's own full lips.

"A sample for an experiment" Holmes' eyes burned into his. He was so matter-of-factly about it that it hurt.

"What experiment would that be then?" John was seriously struggling to keep his calm.

He knew Sherlock was lying through his teeth.

Was he honestly hoping to hide behind his 'Only lies have detail' line from that day John more than all wished he could erase from his memory?

"John" Sherlock verbally tried to pad out what he was going to say next. He braced for the impact. "I was looking for the last remaining cocaine bottle". He confessed; emotionless.

John's world fell apart.


	3. Breaking The Silence

Half of him wanted to hug Sherlock, pull him close and save him from all the monstrous demons that had brought him to this point…

The other half wanted to kick him and take out all the blind anger on him; punish him for breaking his promise… for ruining the progress he had already made.

The guy had fought the withdrawals so bravely to just give it all up to temptation this way. It really wasn't fair!

But both urges were so strong that John's poor brain short circuited. He stood helplessly frozen.

It was an unnerving sight to Sherlock.

He had already braced for Watson's overreaction. He had not imaged this.

This had not been part of Sherlock's calculations! The silence was loud, so loud it hurt his eardrums.

He was actually pleased when there was a crashing sound from the kitchen; putting an end the deafening silence that had fallen on Baker Street.

Ida must have tried to make it onto the cluttered floor… and failed…

Sherlock quickly glanced towards her just as she staggered to her feet, still with the dumb smile plastered on her lips.

She had survived the fall.

Sherlock returned his full attention back to his frozen friend.

Who on the other hand hadn't even flinched at the noise.

Sherlock's muscles ached tiredly from tensing; still somewhat prepared for what he saw coming.

He rubbed his bottom lip; his thumb finding the small scar left from last time he had felt the full force of John's wrath… He probably deserved it that time in the kebab shop…

"John?" Sherlock tried to lift the spell.

He just couldn't take it any longer. This was a cruel and unusual punishment.

Watson simply blinked.

His square jaw was setting hard. His hands tensed; the muscles wanted to ball into fists.  
John was pissed.  
But… why wasn't he reacting? It simply didn't make sense to Sherlock.

What factor had he overlooked?

"The cocaine bottle was not meant for me" He decided he could just as well continue talking; perhaps that was the only way to get him unstuck.

"I meant to observe Ida using, as an experiment. I wanted to test how far I could go without succumbing to the temptation". Holmes continued explaining calmly.

Way too calmly.

'shut up. Shut up now'. John hissed; but his voice remained inside his own chaotic head.

"Also, I had an old debt to settle with her…" Sherlock's voice trailed off.

John's chest rose and fell rapidly. He was huffing and puffing.

"John, please do say something. Your blood pressure must be through the roof". He frowned, trying to hide his actual concern.

A vein on John's forehead was about to pop as well.

"No" He simply uttered, finally breaking the silence. His eyes burned into Sherlock's.

"No?" Sherlock questioned baffled.

"No, Sherlock" John's voice sounded way too calm compared to his physical state.

"John, I…" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He swallowed uncomfortably.

"I don't believe you" John rubbed his jaw. All the tooth-grinding he had done to bite back his anger seemed to have made his jaw muscles cramp.

"But," Sherlock took too long to finish his sentence.

"There's one big flaw in this clever explanation of yours. The girl is already high; another dose in that state would be fatal. So why are you still looking? Hmm?" The good doctor snapped.

"I had two bottles saved, John…" Sherlock quickly explained. "I have already conducted the experiment, and I was going to give her the other as a parting gift… I did not want it lying around in case I should find myself tempted… I have to admit that it is a strong probability."

"Lestrade and Anderson's people went through the entire flat, everything got turned upside down. Every last bit of your stash was destroyed" John cut him off. "On your demand!" He continued.

It had taken a disgruntled Mrs Hudson a day to get the flat back in working order.

"I managed to hide two of the cocaine bottles, just for safekeeping… just in case…" Sherlock was paddling in deep waters.

"In case of what?!" John exploded. The last straw had finally been reached.

"In case I couldn't go through with this… but it became my substance of hardiness. In short I wanted to prove to myself I was strong enough to continue to fight with temptation within reach" Sherlock's voice was breathy as he tried to defend his choices.

"Sherlock, do you even understand why I struggle to believe you?" John strained to remain somewhat grounded as he decided to lecture his friend.

"… yes" the shiver in Sherlock's voice as he replied told John he didn't really believe his own words… even with his inferior deduction skill he could tell that much.

"And do you know why I'm hurt?" The shorter man crossed his arms over his naked chest.

"Hurt!?" Sherlock flinched. He surely meant angry, pissed, ticked off?

"Yes, hurt!" John's own fingers dug into his arm to deflect his own urges.

But, 'hurt'… that implied something a lot deeper. How unsettling. At least he had not gone even further to use a term like 'heartbroken'. Oh please!

Emotions were not something Sherlock wanted to concern himself with. It was a lesson he learned a lifetime ago. He didn't want to admit it; but his brother was right when he reminded him that 'All hearts are broken'. It was a tedious process; one that Sherlock surely didn't have time for.

His eyes darted towards the kitchen. Ida stood in the middle of the room; shivering violently.  
Ida was a prime example… Once upon a time she had been a bright young woman with a future ahead of her… until a man she honestly thought loved her got her hooked on cocaine and morphine… all for his own pleasure. The drugs had slowly but surely fried her brain and only once in a blue moon did ghosts of her old self resurface.

The woman stumbled, knocking over one of his experiments; it made an unbearable amount of noise.

"Can we send her home yet?" John groaned.

Deep down John did know he didn't officially live there anymore but the thought of her was unbearable. She was the devil personified.

"Ida is on the verge of an overdose, I might have miscalculated her dose. Where is your heart, Doctor?" Sherlock dryly emphasised Watson's title.  
He bit his tongue. He did not like to admit his brain hadn't been completely focussed.

Just then the nauseating sound of her vomiting into the sink made it to the two men.

"Why. Sherlock I can't understand" John's voice dropped an octave. At first Sherlock hoped it was his physical reaction to the sounds coming from the kitchen that affected his vocal chords.

He didn't allow Holmes time to formulate an answer.

"I was here. I was right here!" He pointed towards the bedroom. "All you had to do was tell me" John's anger was burning white hot.  
"I would have helped you. How could you have chosen this?"

How could he have chosen her… Where had she been when Sherlock was out of it; crying in the corner of the bedroom in the middle of night; clawing at his own skin? Shaking violently…

Who had been holding him then?

John had. Happily even. There was nothing John wouldn't have been prepared to do to help him through it. And he had been so proud of Sherlock too; going full cold turkey took an inhuman amount of willpower.

But knowing they had lived alongside two bottles of the horrible stuff; that was too much.  
To Sherlock it might have highlighted his own strength… But John knew another story. It was too easy to go through withdrawals when the next fix was within reach. He would never be clean this way.

Once again the man he loved had chosen the drugs over him.


	4. All Hearts Are Broken

It was a fact too painful to bear.

All of it made John's chest tighten.

He needed air. Desperately.

He needed to get out of this messed up place.

"I can't." was all he could say as he marched towards the door, reaching for his jacket.

Sherlock's eyes widened, flickering rapidly from side to side; panic gripping the detective by the throat.

No. Please no.

Not that. Not now!

"John?!" Sherlock's raspy voice questioned.

But John had already opened the door to the stairway. He really was going.

"I need some air" the man didn't even turn around or stop. He honestly feared what he might have done if he stayed too long.

It all hurt him far too much.

It was best for both of them that he walked out.

"J-John?" Holmes' usually assertive tongue twisted and he stuttered.

Now it was Sherlock's chest cavity that cramped.

His world fell apart in front of him. It felt like he had crash landed.

"Please"

The word was barely audible as it made it past his reluctant lips.

Sherlock Holmes was begging.

"Please" he repeated it, for fear of not being heard, putting what little strength he could muster behind such alien words.

John's feet slowed down. His scalp prickled.

He knew what that slight tremor in his friend's voice meant. He knew how desperate he would have to be to utter that word…

He was too proud… usually…

But John really did need the air in his lungs, he had to cool himself down. The cold London air would help that along…

He pulled awkwardly at the still open jacket, feeling it against his naked skin. He was just about to close the door behind him; headed for the stairs, for freedom.

"Don't leave me" Sherlock's voice actually broke this time.

He sounded like a little child. All forlorn, but still sincere.

John barely dared to turn his head. Could he really see him in that state? Should he? Wouldn't Holmes prefer if his emotional self stayed a myth?

But it was a sniffle that did make him turn…

Was he… was Sherlock… crying?

John spun around, facing his friend.

The light caught the wet film that laid over Sherlock's eyes. And Watson's sore jaw felt like it let go of its hinges.

Oh no.

"Sherlock, no" John gasped.

"Don't leave me tonight"

The taller of them seemed to tiny. He was shuddering; his long fingers cramped and fiddled… seeming to grasp at something that wasn't there.

"Sherlock…" John weighed his words; his brain running a marathon trying to find the right to approach this unfamiliar situation.

He was used to the insults and the smirks, trying to read through the lines… this was uncharted territory; for the both of them it seemed.

Feelings… Holmes was feeling. In a big way.

John couldn't find a single word… so he did what two normal people in a similar situation would have done…

He embraced him; John's hands pressing at his shoulder blades, hugging Sherlock towards himself.

The sniffling detective was rigid; taken aback but had no time to push him away… so he remained frozen in Watson's caring arms.

Eventually Sherlock agreed with himself that it was probably best for John's own sake… the hug. He had always seemed to indulge in those things… so even when his senses slowly started to surface he fought the impulse to shove him away.

"I'm not leaving you, mate" John's voice bore clear signs of being overwhelmed by those pesky emotions, too…

Lies. That was exactly what he was doing!

He had merely changed his mind temporarily due to a display of waterworks… though this time Sherlock had not been in control…

Was it really so easy?

John's hands had almost crushed his shoulder blades… and now he seemed to realize it; so instead John carefully circled his palms into his pale scarred back; rubbing slowly… and just like earlier that night, on the bed, it did seem to have that soothing effect.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed.

John let his hands speak… holding his partner; not willing to let go… rubbing him, trying to warm him up… he seemed so very cold! Feeling him… like he never had before… skin to skin.

But suddenly as he started he stopped… taking half a step back; locking eyes with a confounded Sherlock.

"You are the one leaving me…" John seemed to regret his words the second they trailed off his blushing lips.

What? What on Earth did he imply?

No questions were spoken… but his brow furrowed, his face showing it well enough.

"I would do anything for you, Sherlock. Anything" John sighed… Sherlock read the well-hidden anger hiding deep beneath that promise. "I will" he corrected himself; making sure it transpired that their relation was not a thing of the past… not wanting to cement Sherlock's worries.

"You broke my heart tonight" It pained him having to say it out loud.

Sherlock could not stop his brow from once again furrowing. All hearts are broken…

A long silence ensued… both of them just staring at the other… No words either could find seemed to fit.

The silence was so loud none of them noticed the dark eyes that widened, watching them at close range… But the painful whimper that might as well have come from a small wounded animal made both of their heads spin around… remembering they were never alone…

Tears streaked her ashen cheeks… Her dark eyes almost black. One hand clutched at her stomach, the other hugging the doorframe to keep herself on her feet… but somehow it didn't seem connected to the retching she did earlier…

Sherlock gave her a grave look… John seemed the more confused.

"You're a liar, Sherlock" she cried. This time not using his nasty nickname… "And to think I believed you"… she was awfully lucid for once, capable of feeling the full effect of her sour regrets… "You said you were incapable of love… clearly you are".

Holmes didn't even try to rectify the situation…

The woman stumbled back into the kitchen; falling against the table, taking down more of Sherlock's experiments.

"John… I…" His voice was croaky. "I need you" Holmes' teeth seemed to hug his lower lip; he took heavy breaths "Now more than ever"

Finally he got the words out. Finally he said what needed to be said.

"Of course" was John's short reply. He stuck his hands into the jacket and coughed.


End file.
